A Swift Awakening
by Shave the Bumblebee
Summary: In which America's favorite popstar falls into Middle Earth. - "Tailor… Swift?" repeated Legolas doubtfully. "To speak to me with such a lack of deference in my own father's halls is either a sign of total madness, or… a truly extraordinary level of confidence in your craft." Legolas peered at her searchingly. "Come. We may make use of you yet."
1. Chapter 1

"Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, but I'm just gonna shake, shake, sha— AGHHHH!" 

The crowd gasped as Taylor Swift tripped on her stilettos, fell from stage and then seemingly vanished. The lip synced background track continued for a few seconds before the sound guys evidently realized that their star had disappeared. 

And disappeared she truly had. 

Taylor fell and kept falling for what seemed like a lifetime, before landing in— a forest? She couldn't see much before hitting the ground with a sharp impact, her world going black.

She was awakened by something sharp poking against her neck. 

Eyes shooting open, she stared at her assailant, who was holding— an arrow to her neck! 

"AGHHHHHHH!" Taylor screamed. 

A beautiful blonde hippie man looked down at her coldly. "Why are you trespassing in these lands, prostitute woman, and from whence do you come?" 

Taylor's fear was forgotten by anger. "What!? I'm no hooker, I'm Taylor Swift! Have you not heard of me?" She covered her scantily clad body and red sparkly leotard with her hands. 

"Tailor… Swift?" Repeated Legolas doubtfully. 

"Yes! And I come from America, have you at least heard of that, you strange forest hippie?!" 

"To speak to me with such a lack of deference in my own father's halls is either a sign of total madness, or… a truly extraordinary level of confidence in your craft." Legolas peered at her searchingly. "Come. We may make use of you yet." 

Legolas then proceeded to flit through the trees at an unnervingly rapid pace, and Taylor could do nothing but chase after him, tossing her heels behind her as she ran and panting as sweat ran streaks through the vestiges of her makeup. 

When Legolas seemed to float supernaturally over a large tree trunk, it was too much for Taylor, who, although tall, lacked the ability to fly over obstacles. Stopping, she grabbed the trunk and attempted to hoist herself over and around it. Legolas had almost disappeared from her sight when, clutching the trunk with all four limbs, she let out an unearthly scream. 

Legolas reluctantly turned around. "What is it now, Tailor?" 

Falling to the ground, but having conquered the trunk, Taylor lifted her hand, her whole arm shaking. "My nail!" 

Sure enough, one of T Swizzle's acrylic nails had popped clean off during the arduous journey that was scaling the tree. 

Legolas observed her nail with a queer look. "How strange that your whole nail would fall out at once. I do not pretend to know much of the health of humans, but seemingly you must have been infected from underneath to warrant the entirety falling off." He continued gliding through the trees, though at a mercifully slower pace this time. 

Taylor stared at him, aghast. "I'm not infected with anything, weirdo! Have you, like, never seen a fake nail before? I mean, I guess not, living in a forest… But— hey, what do you mean, humans? Who refers to their own species in the third person?!" 

Legolas spared her a quick glance and what appeared to be almost… a smile? 

"You truly speak oddly, tailor woman. Your manner of dialogue is unparalleled in its eccentricity." 

"Are you actually kidding me? Now you're insulting my speech? Are you even capable of holding a normal conversation?!" Taylor growled. 

Legolas's expression smoothed into a frown. "No, I certainly am not kitting with you, nor do I wish to. And you are the strange conversant. Kitting? But to answer your query, I am clearly a woodland elf." 

At that, Taylor felt an intense need to scream in frustration at the evidently mentally afflicted man. She had no idea where she was or who she was with, and her nails were completely unsalvageable. Maybe, this was a coma? A strange dream? She remembered falling from stage- perhaps she was in a hospital room right now, and this was all a silly illusion.

"Yes, that's it, wake up, Taylor! Wake up!" Her breathing quickened and she began to shake while walking. 

The "elf" gave her a very wary look, as if it had just dawned on him that there might be something wrong with her besides her apparent choice of profession. "Stop that. What are you doing."

She was about to collapse of hyperventilation, when in that moment she remembered the words of her Pilates instructor, Ayden. "Breathe deeply, in and out. Focus only on the destination. You're almost there! Yes! You are strong! Work it!" 

She stopped walking and began to mimic her exercises, closing her eyes and flexing out her arm muscles. "It's ok, Taylor, focus on the destination, breathe! You're almost there! Work it, girl!"

At the moment she realized despairingly that Ayden's magic words were not enough, and, worse, seemed to not even make sense in the situation, Legolas also seemed to have had enough with her. 

"You are clearly mad, Tailor. I will bring you to my father now." 

And with that she was knocked out. Her last thought was "Ugh, not again!"

—

She awoke slowly and groggily to two voices. 

A cold, clear voice was speaking. "A mad human prostitute trespassing on our lands? Let us just kill her and be done with it." 

"Come now father, hear me through. She claims to be a famed tailor in her realm of America, so famed they have dubbed her Tailor Swift. If she is mad, let her be sent to the dungeons, but before condemning her let us give her a chance to prove her abilities. If she is as swift as she claims, she would be an asset making tunics for the guard, as spider's blood stains quick and is difficult to soak out. Notice that her garb, although strange and indecent, is of a high quality with rare fabric and small stitches. Let us give her a chance." 

Thranduil, seeing his son's apparent investment in her fate (and not caring either way) said, "fine, do as you will with her. But if she proves to be mad, please put her down. We are not a hotel for strays." 

Taylor, having had enough, chose this moment to speak up. "Do you dudes have some sort of phobia against mental illness? Cause that's seriously not cool. Also, I'm American! You can't put me in a dungeon, take me to the embassy!" 

Thranduil arched his eyebrow, and one corner of his mouth went up. "She's your problem now, son." The kingly figure glided out leaving Legolas and Taylor alone in what seemed to be a small but fancy looking bedroom. 

Legolas opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it. He exited the room, returning with a needle and a thread and some strips of fabric. "Come now, make the finest tunic you can, and prove your words true. If not, you will be considered a liar, and mad to boot, and sent to our dungeons." 

With that, he left the room for good, leaving Taylor feeling more alone than she'd felt since her break up with John Mayer.


	2. Chapter 2

Taylor's cries of despair rang through the depths of the dungeon.

She had, obviously, failed the impromptu sewing exam Legolas had sprung upon her. Not knowing what exactly a "tunic" was, she had sewed the pieces of fabric together until she had created a sort of zombie quilt. Pocketing the remaining thread and the needle, she had been rather pleased with the result, as someone who had never sewn before. Legolas had been less so. As he tossed her into the dark cell, she could have sworn he looked- betrayed?

And now Taylor was stuck in a strange dungeon. In the deepest pits of her misery, she felt inspiration coming forth. She felt inspired- to sing!

She began to croon mournfully:

"Cause we're young and we're reckless

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless

Or with a nasty scar

Got a long list of ex-lovers

They'll tell you I'm insane

But I've got a blank space, babyyyy

And I'll write your name..."

"No, thank you!" Came a deep, gravelly voice from another cell.

"What? Who's there?" Taylor called out.

"Gloin, son of Groin, _not_ at your service. I have no desire to be next on your long list of former lovers."

Glad to hear another's voice, and needing someone to vent to, Taylor replied, "Well, that's ok. I'm not looking for a boyfriend right now anyways. Lately... lately I've been doing some self reflection. Last night especially; mutilating that quilt took like ten minutes, so I used the rest of the night to examine my self destructive tendencies and my flawed approach to relationships. I realize... I realize it's all because John left me. All the men I date, and then write songs about, they're all replacements for John."

"John?"

"Yeah, you know. John Mayer. Famous for singing and for breaking my heart..."

"I haven't heard of this John Mayor, probably because I am not familiar with the politics of the race of man. Dwarves don't take stock in local elections, such as mayoral ones. But, nevertheless I am sorry for you. I could never leave my wife. But that is no excuse to go about dressed like a harlot and singing about driving your sexual partners to insanity."

"Wow, the slut shaming never ends. Be it at the grammys or in a fucking _dungeon_ people will always have something to say! But... I guess you're kind of right. It's just hard sometimes, to shake it off, you know. Just the fact that, that we are never ever getting back together. I'm, like, always crying to the point that it's hard to clean the teardrops from my guitar. Like we had a love story, and he said no. I guess I dress up and perform these songs because I want to feel desirable, since he tore away my sense of self worth. Being with others was better than revenge to me. But now I'll never feel those sparks fly, because I'm going to die in this dungeon, because I can't sew..." By now, Taylor's monologuing had become crying, and she found that she couldn't go on.

"Aw, come now, lassie. Umm, Uh.." Poor Gloin had become very awkward, as he was unused to comforting crying human women. He moved forward into the illuminated front of his cell so she could see him. Perhaps his attempt at a sympathetic expression would cheer her up? It didn't seem to do so, in fact his appearance seemed to further alarm her, so he retreated back into the shadows and tried words again.

"I can't pretend to understand about your tearful guitar, or how to solve your emotional trauma, but.. What was the issue with sewing?"

Taylor looked up mournfully, wiping her tears away with closed fists and pulling out a fake eyelash in the process. "Well, I guess the first thing you should know is that my name is Taylor Swift. It's not even a stage name, it's the name my parents gave me! But the Prince took it to mean that I'm, like, a sewing prodigy and gave me some stuff to sew to test my truthfulness. And of course I couldn't do it, so now I'm in a dungeon!"

Gloin stared at her for a moment before letting out a burst of uproarious laughter, cutting through the still air of the cold and silent dungeon.

"And to think that I'm here for being part of a party of ancient trespassing enemies. Sewing!" He chuckled again.

Taylor's eyes narrowed. "If it's that funny to you, then perhaps we'd better just continue on in silence."

They sat for a few minutes, dead quiet interrupted only by the occasional chuckle from Gloin, who truly was dragging the joke past its limits.

Finally Gloin opened his mouth once more to speak. "So... your parents truly named you Taylor Swift? What a misfortune! Is yours perhaps a family that had tailoring as its craft? Did they expect you to follow in their footsteps?"

To this, Taylor was the one who started laughing, a manic, unhinged laugh that, if King Thranduil had heard, would have resulted in her being executed on the spot.

"No one in my family is a taylor! My father is a stock broker, and _I_ am a world wide singer, the most successful pop star of the decade, winning so many Grammys that I've begun to use them as paperweights."

Gloin's expression was a mixture of concern and confusion, but before he could respond, no doubt to ask what stock brokers, Grammys and pop stars were, they heard footsteps, and a beautiful elven man appeared holding two rickety trays of food. One tray was noticeably nicer than the other, with soup, bread, and even some assorted fruits. The other tray had barely half a cup of broth. The elf placed the nicer tray in front of Taylor with a pleasant expression and the slop in front of the dwarf before walking away without a word.

"Is that all they've been feeding you?! How long have you been down here?" Taylor exclaimed.

Gloin eyed Taylor's tray jealously. "Weeks, months, I can't be sure... Time blurs when you can't see the sun," he said pitifully.

Taylor's eyes widened. Then she pursed her lips in concentration and began to throw the fruit and bread at Gloin.

"Lassie, what are you doing! That's your food!" said Gloin, shocked.

"You need it more," said Taylor, her eyes softening kindly. "Besides, I'm purging my body from solid foods. Strict liquids only diet! It'll be bad enough deviating from coconut water to drink this broth. Besides, ever since moving to L.A. I haven't eaten a single gram of sugar or carbs. I don't even remember what fruit and bread taste like." She grinned proudly.

Gloin looked at her as if she were a different species (which she was) before shovelling all of the food into his mouth, occasionally pausing from his inhalation to emit orgasmic moans.

When he was finished, and after Taylor was done daintily sipping her soup and grimacing, Gloin spoke to her again.

"Listen lassie, that was right kind of you to give me your food like that, regardless of what kind of strange diet you follow. So I've decided I'm going to help you. Dwarves are excellent at all forms of craft, sewing included."

Taylor's eyes watered up in emotion. "Really? How convenient. Thank you! But... how do I even get a chance to try again? Should I try talking to the guard?"

"You could try," mused Gloin, "but I doubt he'll listen without any form of proof that you can sew..."

Taylor thought for a moment, before her eyes lit up.

"I think I have a plan," she said, and with that, she began stripping off her clothes.


	3. Chapter 3

Gloin cried out in fright and covered his eyes with his hands. "I'm a married dwarf, human! I know I called you a harlot earlier, but I didn't _really_ think you- What's your plan, seduce the guard?"

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Shut up, dude. I'm not seducing anyone, just turn around if the sight of me is so stressful for you. I'll let you know when you can look."

Taylor shimmied out of her leotard, pulling a green stretchy dress from where it was concealed beneath it. Letting out a sigh of comfort to have taken off the other layer, she put her red leotard back on and informed Gloin that his eyes were safe. She held up the dress for him to inspect.

Gloin was bewildered. "What— what is that strange garment? And from where did it come, I was certain that nothing could be concealed under your appallingly revealing attire."

Taylor grinned. "You underestimate the fashion industry. I told you I'm a singer. Right before I ended up in this forest, I was performing on stage. I play for crowds of thousands, with huge elaborate shows. And during my shows, we always do at least one costume change. You know, to keep things spicy. So this was supposed to be what I change into when the dancers start grinding on the snakes."

Gimli looked no less bewildered, but he didn't seem to know what to ask about first. He sputtered for a few minutes before questioning her rapid fire. They continued this way all night, Taylor trying her best to explain such concepts as "grinding" and "latex," until the footsteps of the elf were heard again, signaling that he was ready with breakfast.

Taylor cleared her throat and stared at the approaching elf's shiny blonde locks, near identical to Legolas's.

"Um... sir?"

The guard trained his eyes on her.

"I would greatly appreciate if you would send my apologies to Prince Legolas. I was in shock and thought that sewing that atrocious quilt would be a funny joke. But I really am a masterful taylor. Could you please give him this tunic I just made?" She handed the guard the green dress, who took it from her with an expression of bafflement.

"Pray, what are these strange appendices on the hem?"

"Oh, you mean the feathers? Those are just, like, fake bird feathers that I, um, _crafted_ to, um, adorn the tunic, in a shade of bright green."

The elf looked impressed. "And what is this odd contraption?" He motioned to the zipper.

"That is an, uh, _Demi Sucks_ , it's a device- that I uh, invented, that helps with taking clothes off. May I?" She demonstrated to him how to use the zipper.

His eyes widened as he watched it zip and unzip. "Simple... but brilliant! This "Demi Sucks" could be perhaps the most brilliant invention I've ever seen. I will take it to the Prince." He turned around and left swiftly, shooting her another intrigued glance as he left.

As soon as it was clear, Taylor laughed. "Wow, I can't believe that worked."

Gloin snorted, and they spent the next few minutes chatting and musing about the wonders of zippers until Prince Legolas turned around the corner, clutching the green dress in hand.

"Agh!" squawked Taylor, and Gloin sunk back in to the shadows of his cell where he couldn't be seen.

"Uh, hi there, your highness!" Taylor said.

Legolas raised his brow. "Well met, young tailor. Tell me, how did you craft this _Demi Sucks_?"

"Uhm, its a trade secret. So I can't tell you."

"Hm. Even in the depths of my father's dungeons you maintain your dignity and pride as an craftsman." He peered down at her admiringly. "I can respect that."

Taylor flushed. She had just noticed that Legolas's blue eyes shone far brighter than John Mayer's ever had- wait a second! "Snap out of it, Taylor. He's a creepy elf, and he only complimented you because you lied and pretended to invent the zipper."

"Thanks," said Taylor. "Soo, is that guard your cousin or something. Cause he seems to have the same hair as you."

Legolas looked confused for a moment, a corner of his mouth twitching. "No, not at all. By that logic, you could be my cousin. We are both golden- haired."

Taylor grimaced. "No way. Our hair is not alike. I have human hair. Frizzy human hair. Is it frizzy? To be honest, I have no idea what it looks like right now. I don't even remember what my hair looked like before I had my team of stylists blow drying it every day and following me around for touch ups."

Legolas gave her that look he gave her before he had knocked her out, the look that screamed, this girl is crazy, keep away!

Taylor, recognizing that she was on thin ice, tried again. "Legolas, Prince Legolas, sorry if you don't understand me. I assure you that I'm not crazy, but this place is very different from America. What I was explaining, was that in America, because of my, um, sewing fame, as a highly lauded tailor, I paid for a team of women to style my hair. Because of this, I don't know what it would look like now without their styling."

Legolas's expression cleared up. "Ah, you speak of servants. Of course, I too have servants that assist with my hair occasionally, as well as perform other duties."

"They're not my servants! I pay them! They're my, um, employees? Independent contractors working for me temporarily?"

Legolas sniffed. "This America must be very different indeed. Let me give you some cultural advice: in Middle Earth, we refer to the hired help as servants, for that is what they are."

Taylor glared. "Why did you even come down to see me in my miserable cell?"

Legolas cracked a grin. "I have come to give you a second chance. If you truly are the masterful tailor you claim to be, I want you to make tunics for the guard using all the fabric I have here." He mysteriously produced a large pile of fabric and metal scraps along with several drawings and schematics detailing the style and sizings. It looked very scientific to Taylor, who had not gone to school since she was sixteen. "And I would like each tunic to have a _Demi Sucks_ along the back."

"Is that all, your highness?" Taylor's sarcasm was scathing but Legolas didn't seem to catch it.

"That is all I require for now." He began to walk away before turning around again.

"And, tailor? It _is_ frizzy."

"Excuse me?" Taylor questioned, confused.

"Your hair. You said you'd forgotten how it looked."

And then he left, leaving Taylor spluttering in anger, her lap full of fabric and schematics.


End file.
